Hubris
by azure-tears
Summary: It's been four years since the incident that scarred Mr. Herriman and turned him fanatically against dogs. What started it? Frankie's about to find out. Cowrite by Dude13 and azuretears.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Welcome to our first cowritten fanfic, a compilation by Dude13 and azuretears. Hopefully, if you're familiar with our writing styles, you'll be able to distinguish whose style belongs to whom (but telling you would ruin it, wouldn't it?)  


Hubris

Chapter One: Fallacy

Dogs, howling into the night, their jaws snapping as they growled feral at their prey. Rabbits cowering in caves; their ears twitched like their miniscule bodies, so very small and weak compared to the ravenous power of a half wolf, half dog on the rampage. Overhead, a puny half moon illuminated a dim, muddy patch of earth where three dying stalks slumped. In the background, a lone wolf howled dispiritedly, but, to his ears it sounded like a monster readying for the kill.

Mr. Herriman recoiled so far into the couch; he pressed the cushion into the sofa's back. Like that night a few years ago, the clock displayed 12:30 prominently, a time he definitely ought to be sleeping. Unfortunately, he feared sleeping since it would doubtlessly bring back the inevitable nightmares, an annual event 'commemorating' what had occurred four years ago. Frowning, he scratched at an old scar, concealed by his stiffly starched collar. He never removed the collar unless he absolutely needed to and even when he did, he found a way to hide it.

Still, sitting here and scaring himself hardly helped the matter. The television's dim glow illuminated the empty den and its soft colors bathed him in a rosy glow. He scoffed, snatching the remote in his right paw, and switched it off just as the dog/wolf hybrid's teeth tore the fluffy grayish white rabbit to pieces. His stomach churned unpleasantly.

Abrupt hops, accompanied by pausing to ensure he wended his way through the house alone, somehow heightened his anxiety. Though he only heard himself breathing and moving, the possibility of limitless phantoms pursuing and hunting him down soon occupied him so much so that when he nearly tripped over Bloo, he didn't apologize. Instead, he scrambled away, leaving Bloo to mutter angrily under his breath and wonder why these things always happened on his way to the bathroom. However, thanks to Mr. Herriman's distracted state, he neither saw the imaginary blue friend stomp off nor heard his utterances, because if he had, the bathroom might not be the first place he'd send him.

His weaving brought him in front of Frankie's door, open ajar just in case Eduardo had a nightmare or any other number of friends needed her in the middle of the night. He smiled softly, finding himself growing rather fond of her despite an obvious lack of scruples at times and disrespect for his authority. For a split second, he pondered her reaction to his woeful tale, one he hadn't shared with Madame Foster, but then discarded the notion. Though he knew his place with his creator, his relationship with Frankie was unsteady and uncertain, somewhere between enemy, friend…and something else entirely.

Frowning lightly, his paw eased around the knob and he leaned forward, musing how she might take the head of business confiding in her like another imaginary friend, less mature and strict. Truthfully, confiding in anyone was like pulling a large tooth out of his mouth- it pained him terribly. Madame Foster often had to pry his feelings out through their mental bond…or not at all if he was that unwilling. Recalling the issue over his scar, he rubbed the spot on his neck gingerly. She'd tried repeatedly, but never managed to extract the truth.

Frankie rolled over in her sleep and Mr. Herriman jumped back like the metal in his paw electrocuted him. His stumble backwards echoed loudly in his ears and he worried momentarily he'd woken her. When her peaceful, slumbering breathing reached him, he relaxed and forced himself to hop away. What was he thinking, rousing her over nothing? Particularly when he'd irritated her senselessly over housework this afternoon- she'd be in no mood to deal with him. Maybe the reason he was so anal about things with her was because he was afraid to confess anything else...or share anything other than a business relationship.

Shaking his head ruefully, he attempted to wrench such notions from his highly organized mind. Their relationship was properly official, nothing more. Besides, what on earth did that have to do with anything? Was he merely distracting himself because recalling what else the night entailed rubbing salt into still open wounds? He loathed revealing weakness and one like this was more than a weakness, more like an Achilles' heel. If anyone found out, it'd be worse than the "Funny Bunny" fiasco on the internet.

Turning his own doorknob, he hopped towards his four poster, settled under the covers, placed his monocle on the nightstand, and clenched his eyes shut. Slept stole over him, but the dreams forthcoming made him wish he'd kept watching that movie.

* * *

_Close, so close he smelled noxious waste in his saliva, heard every decibel change in his low pitched snarl, felt his rancid breath, hot and heavy on his face, and saw his nails rip out dirt, compact it, and then paw the ground like a bull on the charge. Disheveled brown and grey fur lined his lean, scrawny body and a white stripe ran down the middle of his body and stopped at his tail's tip. Bloodshot, ruthless eyes skimmed the perimeter, its owner infuriated its large meal option evaded him. He snapped his jaws, sharp and devilish teeth glinting horribly. And, unlike in real life, when the demon spawn half wolf, half dog chomped down, it was on his jugular vein. _

_Blood, imaginary but real nonetheless, poured out onto the lifeless earth and, regardless of the impossibility, whenever the monster returned for another grind, he felt it. The monster was eating him alive…_

* * *

Bolting upright in bed, Mr. Herriman screamed. Uncontrollable tremors captured him and he hugged himself desperately, glancing around to see if the dog had escaped his nightmares into the real world. No cries punctuated the air, no unbearable snarls, but he had no desire to remain and find out. After all, like the child terrified of a boogie man in the closet, his fear had consumed him. It rendered the officious, parsimonious, persnickety rabbit into a quivering mass of terror, jumping at whispers in the night.

Casting aside the unadorned woolen sheets, he sat up, rubbing his eyes but his fright lingered. An imaginary dog yipped outside his door and he, whimpering incoherently, latched onto a post. Not until its footsteps receded down the hall did he reluctantly lower himself to the wooden floor. His paws clutched the post obstinately and, only by convincing himself to seek out Frankie did they loosen their hold. Minus an object to cradle, they quaked like the rest of him.

Swallowing hard and hopping to the door, he told himself his fear was groundless. That dog was probably long dead and if it wasn't, there was no way they'd encounter each other again. Rabid, starved real creatures rarely gained entrance into Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends and those that did were immediately sorted with the Extreme-o-Saurs. What if the dog was really an imaginary friend and it came back? Oh, no…what if it was just biding his time until it attacked again and finished him off?

Moaning softly, he cautiously hopped towards the door (his legs were like jelly every time he launched himself forward and his foot paws like cement). His initial doubts about telling her vanished, perhaps because returning to his bed and forcing himself into dreams was not only impossible, but a recipe for disaster. He knew informing his creator would mean a guilt trip, since he'd successfully countered her questions annually and managed to nullify her concern. That and exposing his secret to Frankie made more sense to him than his creator, though their connection was much different. He couldn't explain it and, right now, any thought process inevitably led to flashes of his nightmare disabling him. If he wasn't chary, he'd plummet to the floor due to a freeze mid-hop.

Fortunately, her room lay only a hallway away and his legs cooperated that far. Coaxing the door open, he silently cursed its creaking, but decided chastising her about its oil requirement was not only pompous, but likely to irk her further instead of helping his case. Her melodious breathing permeated the air like a sweet scent, but the hammering of his heart, threatening to burst from his ribcage, convinced him to move forward. The open window, curtains billowing in the breeze, displayed the half moon and lit up her face, framed by luxurious crimson hair. His breath caught in his throat.

She rolled over and struggled to consciousness, in the grip of a nightmare herself. Waking forcefully, she opened her eyes to find him staring at her. Considering the nature of her recent dream, involving him ordering toilets to be cleaned that forever grimed themselves up, she yelped, scrambling away. However, when no reprimand sprang forth and he issued no list of chores, she decided it was safe to speak. Maybe this was an extension of her nightmare and when she pinched herself, she'd wake completely.

"What do you want?" she snapped, peeved he'd inexplicably discovered a chore that couldn't wait until morning. "And can't it wait until I'm _conscious_?"

Shaking his head, ears flopping to and fro, he gazed in the darkness for a place to sit. When none presented itself, she grudgingly bequeathed space on her bed. Her eyes narrowed accusingly, disbelieving he could discuss anything but work and the house. Turning her head away, she hid a smirk. It sounded ludicrous, but when he panicked, partied, or acted happy, she found herself drawn to him. It proved there was more to him than filing papers, keeping stock of their funds, and pretentiousness. He was more than a beaucrat, he was a fellow, sympathetic creature…and why was she blushing?

"No, it can't…" he murmured, hanging his head like a chastised school child. "I apologize if I woke you, but this is urgent, Frankie."

Rolling her eyes, she willed herself to stop this insane, irrational blushing, and eyed him. He winced, the submissive one momentarily. This change in countenance, coupled with his using her nickname, removed her normal reaction. He was so vulnerable now, she couldn't imagine turning him away, regardless of their positions normally. She slid closer, debating whether or not he needed physical comfort, and decided to bide her time.

"What is it?" she inquired, politer and quieter than before. "Don't tell me the toilets need cleaning. I am _not _touching a bowl, handle, or sewage pipe tonight. The next time Bloo thinks it's a good idea to drop a cherry bomb into the third floor bathrooms, tell him he's cleaning it up himself."

Shaking his head feebly, he fumbled, wishing she'd give him an opening. Badly he longed to unload onto her, but his pride, even at its weakest currently, didn't permit him this. Unfortunately, he'd either have to bite the bullet or let his nightmares conquer him once and for all. Not telling her now spelled another annual tradition- the sleepless night spent curled up in a ball until sunrise assured him there were no dogs hiding in dark corners, under his bed, in his armoire, or anywhere else his imagination situated them. This night, every year, fear pulled his strings like a puppet master.

"You're shaking," she commented, frowning. Biting her lip, she tried to associate his current tremors with the past and at once, it came to her. Dogs. The only thing in the world that reduced him to, well, this. He hated the wilderness, yes, but his fear of that was nothing compared to his rampant petrified state around canines. But there were no dogs in Foster's, other than the imaginary ones, and he'd hopefully made peace with their existence months ago. Then what…?

"Frankie…" he whimpered, body quivering. "Frankie, I need to talk to you…and it's not about the house, your squeaky door (which you need to oil), or the condemned third floor bathroom.

"Promise me you won't tell anyone, _especially _Madame Foster."

She blinked, taken aback. Why would he tell her something he withheld from his creator? Shouldn't that be the other way around? Why was she suddenly more important than her grandmother to him? And why was she strangely honored?

"What's so important you can't tell her but you can tell me?" she replied, curious. His paw brushed her hand on the bed and both jumped. In the darkness, it was difficult to determine who blushed harder, but both swiftly glanced away to hide their reactions. This time, when he rested his paw again and she her hand, his landed on hers. Neither moved.

Smiling serenely, he replied, "Haven't you wondered why I'm afraid of dogs?"

Honestly, yes, but she'd assumed it was instinct brought into imaginary form. He was, after all, a rabbit. Yet while she reconsidered this, his other paw, the one not covering her hand, flew to his collar. She remembered trying to remove it once before and he'd practically bitten her head off. He'd contradicted himself, sounded like a lunatic, but fought her tooth and nail. At the time, she'd been too enraged to care why, but now that he brought it up and his paw unconsciously scratched at the fur beneath, she reexamined it.

"Miss Frances-" he began and she scowled. Why couldn't he call her "Frankie" like a normal creature? No one called her "Miss Frances" other than him- her parents hadn't either when they were alive. Her grandmother, upon taking her in at an early age, decreed that she'd only call her that if she was angry with her, since it was too big a name for such a small child (not that it'd stopped _him_).

"Frankie. Would you _please _call me that? It's really not that hard," she said, rolling her eyes. Besides, he said her name differently than anyone else. It was almost like whenever he said it, she sat up straighter and a ball of happiness warmed her chest. Oh, jeez, she sounded like the heroine in a harlequin romance story. Er, wait, that wasn't possible because she wasn't in love….right?

"Fine," he conceded, though he was privately pleased. He'd always wanted to call her that, but his nature prevented him from using nicknames unless they gave their implicit permission. Of course, Madame Foster had ordered him to call her "Ellie", but he'd never listened since she was his creator and therefore, above him. Frankie wasn't above or below him…he wasn't sure where she lay.

"Frankie…" Damn, now he'd lost his train of thought. Another howl; he shivered uncontrollably, terror hugged her, and pressed his furry face into her shoulder. The howling stopped and, embarrassed, he discovered it was none other than Eduardo's pet, Perrito, prowling the halls. He really had to stop jumping like this.

"You were about to launch into why hearing an imaginary puppy yip at this ungodly hour causes you to grab me like I'm a life preserver," she said, but didn't complain. He was nice and warm in the cold night.

"You must promise me you will not tell Madame Foster a word of this," he interjected, releasing her. She sighed unhappily, missing his warmth immediately.

"I promise."

Clearing his throat, dropping his paw onto her hand again, he launched into his tale.

* * *


	2. Pride

Author's Note/Disclaimer: This is the only input I, azuretears, have in this chapter. Don't all start cheering. I'll be back next chapter (though I couldn't resist naming the chapter).

Yes, Dude13 penned this one. I'll pass all reviews onto him.

Oh, and Foster's, Mr. Herriman, Frankie, and Madame Foster are property of Craig McCracken, Cartoon Network, and whoever.

Chapter Two: Pride

"…dinner for tonight is all ready as well. It's in the refrigerator as we speak, all you need to do is turn on the ovens at around five o'clock, and then you…"

Before the petite old woman could jabber on any further, her finely-attired imaginary rabbit cut her off with a wave of a gloved hand and a smile.

"Please, please, Madame!" he chuckled warmly. "Must you really treat me so as if the house will turn into anarchy the moment you leave? It's not as if you haven't left me in sole charge of the residence before. I assure you, I think I know my way around all of our kitchen appliances at this point. I doubt I'll manage to burn down half the mansion in your absence." He joked in his usual dry manner.

Madame Foster grinned as she hobbled across the porch to give her imaginary friend an affectionate hug.

"I just want to make sure that my Funny-Bunny is going to be alright, that's all." She cooed jokingly in the manner of a toddler.

"Oh Madame, please!" Mr. Herriman laughed, his silvery-gray fur managing to hide his blush. "Believe me, one night away from Foster's will not spell out the death of our establishment, I assure you! Now, if that's the biggest worry on your mind, then I do believe you may have your priorities a bit fuddled, if I do say so myself."

Before Madame Foster could reply, the pair became abruptly interrupted by a shrill shriek emitting behind them from inside the house.

"EEEEEK! Oh my God, it's ten o'clock _already_?" someone yelled in absolute horror.

This squeal of dismay was immediately followed by a hideous clamor erupting from a staircase, supplemented with plenty of agitated moaning and the odd curse thrown in the midst of all the racket. The old woman and imaginary friend turned around just in time to spot what resembled a large bundle of various bags and suitcases making its way across the foyer and towards the doorway. Just as the pile was about to exit the old Victorian mansion's front doorway and step onto the porch, Madame Foster immediately pulled herself away from her creation to yell out a sharp warning to the haphazard luggage heap.

"Frankie, watch out for that step-"

However, the old woman's caution came far too late. With a scream of dismay, the heap came crashing down in an avalanche of duffel bags, travel cases, and a diverse variety of odds and ends, scattering across the wooden deck and managing to spill out onto the lawn in a hideous mess. As soon as the air cleared of falling bags and assorted clothing, the wreckage cleared to reveal among the calamitous mess a young, eighteen-year-old redheaded girl lying face-down amongst the mess, lying in a position oddly reminiscent of a shoulder struck down by an artillery shell.

"Oh, gracious me!" Mr. Herriman cried in appall as he instinctively hopped to the fallen teenager's side. "Miss Frances, are you alright-"

Before he could get any further, the girl shot back to her feet in an instant, a look of the utmost terror stamped across her features.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no! No, no, no, no, no! Not me, not now, not when we're already late! Oh God, oh God…." Frances "Frankie" Foster began to lament pathetically as she scrambled to gather her badly scattered possessions together.

"Frankie, please!" Madame Foster called as she quickly hobbled over to her badly-frazzled granddaughter. "Dear, relax, it was just a little accident! Don't worry, I'll just call some of the friends down, and-"

"Relax? Relax? _RELAX_?" Frankie cried with an armful of clothing. "How can I relax? Grandma, we have to leave, _now_! The letter from Montclair State University said all freshmen need to arrive there today, by _four o'clock_!" the badly stressed college-bound girl practically screamed in her dismay. "It's already ten o'clock now and the college-"

"Is only a three-hour drive away!" her grandmother reminded her dutifully with an exasperated sigh. "Dear, please, I know you're feeling a little nervous right now about leaving, but that gives you no right to-"

"Hold on, hold on? _Only _a three-hour drive?" Frankie yelled in utter disbelief. "Does "traffic" mean anything to you? "Unexpected weather?" Maybe "possible flat tire?" Grandma, will you please just stop and _think_ for a moment?"

With this rather ironic statement, the agitated girl scrambled off to her grandmother's car in a huff, preferring to toss her possessions haphazardly into the trunk in her extreme anxiety.

"Oh goody, and I was planning this to be one of my more treasured memories. Good thing I won't be disappointed, I see," Madame Foster groaned sarcastically in exasperation as she watched her granddaughter resemble a cartoon character in her flamboyantly frantic behavior. Mr. Herriman just chuckled good-naturedly as he gave his creator a reassuring pat on the shoulders.

"Oh really, and it isn't as if this runs in the family? If I do remember correctly, we had quite the hassle with one particular little lady when it was _her _special day to leave and finish her education at an all-girl's university. Now, my memory may not be as good as it used to be, but I do believe that frazzled young woman's name was-"

"Oh please, don't remind me." Madame Foster snickered like a naughty schoolchild. "You and my father practically had to pry my fingers off the door. Hee hee! Why, I don't think I would've ever gone had you not-"

_HONK HONK!_

The two turned around as the shrill beeping of a car horn abruptly halted their conversation. Lo and behold, Frankie had already managed to cram all of her things into her grandmother's vehicle within a matter of minutes and was now reaching through the driver's window to blare repeatedly on the horn to grab hold of their attention.

"Let's go, let's go!" Frankie yelled, doing a little dance of impatience. "C'mon, we gotta get on the road, now! I don't-"

"Frankie, aren't you forgetting something?" her grandmother inquired dutifully. Groaning loudly to make no secret of her annoyance, the girl stormed up the walkway, rubbing her temples furiously.

"Grandma, what is it?" she whined in the most pitiful manner. "Please, can't we just-"

"I said, aren't you forgetting something, dearie?" Madame Foster asked again with a bit of a playful grin.

"I already went to the bathroom." Frankie muttered irritably.

"No, it's not that."

"Did we forget to pack sandwiches for the ride up?"

"Oh, no, you're _very_ off." Her grandmother laughed with a fiendish smirk. "C'mon, you know…"

"Grandma, puh-_leeze_!" Frankie begged. "We really, _really_ gotta go! What on earth-"

"I think you forgot to say goodbye to a certain someone." Madame Foster laughed, shooting a glance in the direction of her imaginary friend.

"What? Why do I-oh, _fine_." Frankie huffed grumpily, cutting herself off in mid-protest. With a heavy sigh, she tromped over unwillingly and wrapped her arms around a broadly grinning Mr. Herriman.

"Farewell, Miss Frances." He laughed as he felt the half-hearted embrace. "I sincerely hope your studies will-"

"Yeah, yeah, studies, don't smoke, peer-pressure, blah blah blah, I know, I know! C'mon, let's just _go_!" Frankie babbled frantically, eager to leave. With that she tore herself away from the imaginary friend and grabbed hold of her grandmother's hand, practically dragging the old woman along with her to the car.

"Bye, Bunny! I'll give you a call tonight to check up on things!" Madame Foster managed to yell out as she was whisked towards the driveway. Mr. Herriman flashed her a warm, reassuring smile as he waved off grandmother and grandchild.

"Don't you worry! Everything will be just fine, I promise!"

Mr. Herriman paused for a moment after stepping out through a back door, taking a few seconds to enjoy the cool, crisp evening. This only lasted for a moment however, as the aged imaginary friend, businesslike as ever, quickly hopped off to complete his routine nightly stroll around the Foster's grounds.

Usually, he preferred to use this period of evening solitude to clear his mind after a long day of managing a rather expansive home for imaginary creatures. Tonight, however, proved to be quite an unusual exception to his routine. Much to his delight, he found that there was actually very little to bother him. Rather than feel burdened by any woes, Mr. Herriman had to admit a little guiltily that he was feeling quite proud of himself at the moment. Even with his creator gone for the day to tend to her granddaughter, it seemed everything at Foster's today had gone without a hitch under his watch. All of the friends seemed quite well-behaved today; he had barely emitted so much as a few stern reminders to a few residents close to violating a few house regimens. There had been no accidents, no serious injuries with the obvious exception of a few bumps and bruises from the inevitable roughhousing, not even a minor spat or argument that had to be broken up. Lunch and dinner had also hardly been a hassle at all, He found that he had been able to take care of both meals with little trouble, and also both times all the friends had dutifully carried out their assigned chores during clean-up without a problem. Of course, to top it all off, he had just gotten off the phone minutes before with Madame Foster to assure her with the utmost confidence that all the imaginary friends had just gone to bed, leaving the entire residence as quiet and peaceful as a graveyard.

As he traveled along the edges of Foster's extensive property in his usual dignified hop, Mr. Herriman couldn't help but let his stomach swell a little in pride. Today had actually been one of the best in a long time, besides Frankie's "episode" earlier that morning, everything else had gone off almost perfectly, and it had all done so under _his_ sole command. His creator and Foster's founder had hardly been present there at all today, yet this had been one of the smoothest days Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends had seen in a while. Mr. Herriman let a hint of a smug grin take root on his face; where on earth would the home be if it weren't for his own-

His moment of self-appraisal came to an abrupt halt as his large rabbit ears picked up a peculiar noise. At first, all that could be heard was the night air gently rustling the nearby trees along with the chirp of a solitary cricket, the usual sounds to be expected during his nighttime strolls. However, just as he was about to brush it aside as a mere figment of his imagination, again his acute sense of hearing discerned again; the sound of some creature stumbling about rather clumsily nearby, whimpering occasionally through ragged gasps for air. Sensing that it was coming from a few yards into the forest bordering Foster's property, Mr. Herriman wasted no time and bolted off through the trees.

The rabbit was hardly worried; to him the whole situation seemed to be business as usual. Foster's had seen more than its fair share of beaten and battered imaginary friends showing up exhausted on the front steps of the mansion. What it also had, however, was a considerable amount of friends who arrived in such bad condition that they weren't even able to make it all the way to the door in their pitiful conditions. These particular cases were given the necessary care only after being spotted unexpectedly by a wandering resident or member of the house staff. In all his years at Foster's, Mr. Herriman himself in his nighttime walks had come across at least a half-dozen imaginaries stumbling about in delirium about the outskirts of the home's property, barely unable to stand upright much less make it all the way to the entrance.

Dodging about trees and hopping through brush, Mr. Herriman hurriedly made his way in the direction of what he naturally assumed to be yet another abandoned imaginary friend, who for some unknown yet horrid reasons hadn't even been able to make it to the end of Foster's lawn. Following his dutiful instincts, the rabbit determinedly made his way towards the sounds of distress and finally a blur stumbling about crazily through a few trees a couple yards ahead. Upon finally catching sight, Mr. Herriman put on an extra burst of speed to what he thought was yet another imaginary victim of abandonment and thus a creature in desperate need of Foster's care.

"Excuse me, excuse me!" he called out clearly as he drew near. "Sir, or Miss! Please, are you alright-"

His good-natured inquiry abruptly died in his throat as the silhouetted creature turned into his direction…and _growled_. Confused and now feeling a bit wary, Mr. Herriman instantly came to a sudden halt a few yards away, narrowing his eyes as he tried to get a clear view of the creature. What had just happened? This was indeed most unusual. Why on earth would a destitute imaginary friend, of all things, growl in such a harsh and threatening manner towards someone offering nothing but aid? Mr. Herriman found himself to be utterly confused and confounded, it didn't make any sense why-

Up above, the clouds parted to allow a weak ray of much-needed moonlight shine upon the darkened world, and with a frightened gasp all of Mr. Herriman's questions became answered within an instant. The imaginary friend was growling at him…because it _wasn't _an imaginary friend.

It was nothing more than a stray dog, roaming about in the woods near the residence. Or at least Mr. Herriman thought it was a dog; at the moment it looked more as if someone had left the gates of Hell open by accident and a horrific beast from the underworld managed to get loose. The creature was a mongrel, a hound made from a crossbreed between a timber wolf and a boxer, with bursting muscles and a huge barrel chest making it a large and fearsome looking beast of the likes which Mr. Herriman had never before seen in his life. Its body was covered with a layer of thick, scruffy, dirty black fur, supplemented however with bare, mangy blotches of raw flesh that managed to glisten sickeningly in the moonlight. Every one of its paws was adorned with a row of vicious-looking bearlike claws that looked as if they could slice through sinew and bone with ease. However, these paled in comparison with the rows of a sickly yellow, razor-sharp fangs that the beast displayed in a fearsome snarl, causing the creature to somehow resemble a furry great white shark with legs and a tail. Even worse than the teeth that were so prominently shown like swords and knives in an armory was the disgustingly sick layer of filthy foam that decorated its pitch-black lips and jaws. This, along with its blood-red eyes that seemed to glance about wildly yet somehow managed to remain fixated on the furry, new-legged newcomer seemed to point directly to a deranged animal deeps in the grips of a nightmarish case of rabies.

Trying his best not to scream in shock and utter horror, Mr. Herriman bit down so hard upon his lower lip he drew blood. His rabbit legs shaking uncontrollably as if they were made of Jell-O, he tried to focus all his energy upon keeping hold of his badly-rattled senses and more importantly, trying to back off without provoking the hellish hound that fixated its gaze upon him and bared his fangs. Within a matter of moments, all his heroic thoughts of coming to the aid of a derelict imaginary friend had become absolutely shattered, and now escape became the main objective on his mind.

Especially since he just noticed the dog's ribcage poking through its mangy fur.

And it looked _hungry_.


	3. Hunted

Author's Note/Disclaimer: I'm ba-ack. Well? Didn't you miss me? No? Too bad.

Yes, this chapter was written by yours truly, azuretears. So if it sucks, y'all can flame me. And if you do, you'll find some nice little 'presents' in your inbox. (evil grin)

Chapter Three: Hunted

Retreating steadily, the large imaginary rabbit glanced uneasily at the house, already far in the distance. How could such a normal occurrence suddenly metamorphose into a nightmare? Nonetheless, despite rising panic, he assured himself he'd triumph over adversity, but, more importantly, get the hell out of here. Supposing he outran the hybrid, leapt over the front stairs, unlocked the door, slipped inside, and locked the creature out, he might stand a chance. Unfortunately, that discounted two crucial elements- one, a rabbit running on his hind legs tended to come in last in any race and two, the large tree limb behind his right foot paw.

He tripped, landing hard on his back and head. Wincing and seeing stars, Mr. Herriman pushed against the ground and, then, forgetting the creature hot on his trail, proceeded to brush himself off. How ever would he explain the mud stains on his elbows? Irritated, he wiped stringently, freezing when the footfalls and fetid growl hit his large, fluffy ears. Oh, right…he was running for his life.

Agitated, he spurted through the trees and soon lost his way. A vast canopy concealed the moon and his path back to Foster's. The sensible part of him wanted him to mark trees so he'd know which way he went, but his survival savvy part snapped, "stop being such an idiot and get out of here!" Thankfully, the hybrid's renewed snarls shut up the sensible part quite quickly. On and on he ran, ill adroit and a comical sight, were this a laughing matter. Of course, if he simply threw away his pretentiousness and got on all fours like a normal rabbit, he might have eluded his predator. But Mr. Herriman was no common beast and, therefore, would run willy-nilly through unknown woods without resorting to innate traits.

Panting, sweating profusely beneath his fur, he tripped once again, this time over a tree root. Scrambling on his back, he forwent the agitation over scuffing his tuxedo half and leapt to his feet to knock headlong into a too small cave. Meanwhile, gaining because spurts were its specialty, the creature rent a potentially dangerous hunting cry into the night. Its shrill declamation pierced his ears and small, real rabbits ran underground to safety. For once in his life, Mr. Herriman sincerely wished Madame Foster had imagined as any other animal, particularly one a hybrid wouldn't pursue in the dark of night when he'd accidentally wandered away from Foster's. Still, his pride refused to let him contact her or acknowledge the doubtless worry escaping him into their mental bond.

In his delirium, he swore he heard it contemplate where to start when it caught him. He pictured it tearing into his stomach, then his chest cavity. Unable to stop shuddering, all caution and posturing abandoned, he fell to all fours and scampered off, getting himself further lost in the process. Yet no matter how often he paused minutely to catch his breath, he heard the footfalls.

Decaying wood snapped under his gloves and the putrid stench of dead animals, plants, and spilled blood entered his nostrils. By his left foot paw laid the skeleton of a real rabbit, by its side what looked like a dog. Terror threatened to choke his throat- not only was this creature after him, he was no stranger to cannibalism. The primp, proper Mr. Herriman might have given him a stern talking to about burial rites and how intrinsically evil it was to digest others of your species. The terrified one, however, really couldn't care less. It only heightened his fright.

Trembling in the frigid wintry wind that rattled the bodies' ribcages and played a death melody, he whimpered and set off into a tight grove of trees. Maybe if he nestled in a bramble, the creature might get discouraged and leave him alone. Of course, its exposed ribcage, pressing against its mangy fur, told a different story. It also, lamentably, told him that if it feasted on him, it wouldn't be hungry for too much longer. A squeak, all he was capable of at the moment, escaped his lips.

Ironically, as the mind is wont to do in times of crisis, an odd song flitted through his brain. An old Elvis Presley song, one Frankie delighted in playing whenever he assigned her too many tasks and she wanted to show her vexation. Thankfully, she'd only done it once since he'd erupted at her and been rather close to grounding her himself. (Madame Foster jumped in and reminded him that she, not he, was her guardian and really, it was tremendously unfair to ground someone over listening to a 'classic song'). Still, now that he recalled it, it wouldn't leave his head.

_This isn't a hound dog…he's not going to catch me…oh, why did that infernal song have to get stuck in my head? This is absurd…_he thought, scurrying over boulders as the hybrid's howls grew nearer. One slipped under his paw and he clutched the one above desperately, his pads scrambling for purchase. Maybe if he miraculously made it up the cliff, he could shove down the rocks he'd used to get up there in the first place and prevent his reaching him. Of course, that didn't cover the possibility it'd wait until he came down or that it could leap the distance. Damn, curse his inability to formulate an actual, feasible plan. Still, perhaps a better one would strike him once he was able to breathe freely.

Snapping its jaws menacingly, the hybrid finally reentered the 'battle arena' and he babbled incoherently, adrenaline lending him strength he otherwise would never have possessed. After all, a rabbit of that stature and mass surely weighed too much to heave himself over easily in an ordinary situation. Then again, a ravenous beast yearning for his blood hardly constituted as normal in any sense of the word (unless he was a typical rabbit and called these devilish woods home). He gasped, getting his second wind as the beast closed in.

Kicking at the boulders, pebbles, and medium sized rocks stubbornly, he swore audibly when far too little plummeted. Despite his powerful legs, the larger boulders, the ones he needed to fall to prevent its entrance never budged. They rocked back and forth, but rolled right back into their grove. The hybrid was gaining and he hadn't managed to knock any off their perch, much less inhibit its chances of reaching him. At long last, one shifted out, tumbled down, and landed at its feet. The creature stared up at him as if to say, "how rude to keep me from eating you".

Realizing he'd wasted far too much time on a fruitless endeavor, he ran the length of the outcrop and then promptly tumbled into a mudslide. Fur, gloves, whiskers, and paws caked, he shook his head pointlessly. None of it fell off and if he tried to cleanse himself now, he'd give it time to hunt him down. Still, for someone who prided himself on etiquette and hygiene, he certainly looked like hell. Yet his mind reminded him that if and when he got out of this, he'd soak in the bathtub. Right now, Foster's was a distant memory, like an oasis in the desert.

Darting forward, he plunged through thorns and bramble, heedless of the various nicks and scratches he accrued. One particular prick dug deeply into his left foot paw and upon wrenching it out, he yelped as blood streamed. Nonetheless, the cut wasn't deep enough to hinder him or leave a blood trail the creature might pick up. Yet in his mind, it was a deep gash that would lead to the hybrid leaping out of midair to stomp on his chest and then rip his throat out.

Babbling insanely, he splashed through a nearby stream, through the remains of a campfire (who would camp this far out?), and thudded painfully into a tree. Squirrels he'd roused flung warning acorns at his head and, rubbing it gingerly, he mentally remarked how inconsiderate they were before reminding himself he wasn't exactly out here because he wanted to reprimand the wildlife. Not that they didn't deserve it, but at the moment…

Scampering through countless mini-ecosystems, he halted at a crossroads of sorts. Two paths, both heavily tree lined, awaited. Of course, without foresight, he could choose either one and end up in a potentially worse situation than the one that he already faced. An old Robert Frost poem, about the path less traveled, entered his head, but he disregarded it as nonsense. The path less traveled in the woods, in a literal sense, was usually the one leading to a dead-end.

Throwing all caution to the winds, he flung himself down the left one and prayed to whatever deity existed that this one wouldn't get him killed. Unfortunately, his praying opened up another connection, the one linking him to his creator. Too late, he'd discovered all the terror, anxiety, and fear for his life had inevitably reached her, albeit muted. He swore again, wishing for once they didn't have such a strong tie. Lying on the phone to someone was far different than lying to them in a mental bond, where one couldn't really lie anyway, try as one might.

_Mr. Herriman, my Funny Bunny, what's going on? You've been blocking me out_. she sent and instead of replying, he situated the largest mental block he could muster in place and drowned her out. The energy drain ignoring her required couldn't be helped. Naturally, he knew this'd only make her worry more, but right now, he had worse troubles.

The beast hadn't specifically located him, but its obtuse snout poked through the brush to his right, the path he hadn't selected. Panic stricken, aware that while his concentration on the block dwindled, she could push her way back into his head, he ran again, disregarding the stitch in his side, the bruises, and the fact he was growing increasingly tired. He'd lost track of time, but he couldn't keep up the pace, even if it was only for ten more minutes. But if he stopped now, it'd kill him…with Madame Foster feeling his excruciating execution. He couldn't let that happen.

His exhausted paws met cold, hard stone and he skidded into a cave. Diminutive as it was, it was just big enough to let him rest cramped. Desperate, he hefted a sharpened branch protectively, as though it might aid him later on, and crouched inside. Maybe if he shut his eyes for a few seconds, the scary monster would go away.

…

Snap! Crack! Snarl!

_What a nightmare…though, I must admit, it seemed pretty realistic_, Mr. Herriman thought, stretching his paws. The only problem was, his arms didn't have enough room to maneuver and his right one still clutched the sharpened branch. It wasn't a dream at all, which meant the growling in his ears wasn't a hungry stomach…

Blinking, he awkwardly rolled over to find the hybrid snapping its jaws at his face. Claws scrambled to tear off the protective, starchy collar around his neck. One carved deeply, but failed to reach its intended target. Frustrated to no end, it dug into the groove created and Herriman screamed, thrusting the branch at its belly. It was the hybrid's turn to scream as the branch pierced non vital organs.

Kicking him in the muzzle and as many times as required to get him out of his way, he sped off, running so quickly, the scenery was a blur. Past the forked roads, through the campfire, stream, and everything else, he paid it no mind. Overhead, the moon shone weakly, but sunrise was still a few hours off. Not that it mattered in the slightest to him, but at least no one in the house would see him in this condition.

Once unlocking the door, darting up the stairs, and then collapsing onto his four poster, he passed out.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I'm not even going to bother. I've had a particularly horrid day and this site acting up isn't helping one iota. Review Dude13's chapter or karmic retribution will come back and bite you. Or I will. Given my current mood, that might be possible.

Insert standard Foster's is not mine disclaimer.

Chapter Four 

Once he finished his woeful tale of horror, Mr. Herriman silenced himself as he turned to Frankie, eager to see how she'd respond. For the next few seconds, however, the girl didn't even do so much as look up in his direction. Seated on the edge of her bed, she just stared down towards the floor and watched her long legs swing gently back and forth, almost as if she been distracted the entire time and hadn't had a word from his mouth.

A bitter feeling of crushing disappointment rising in his chest, Mr. Herriman, began to scoot himself a little bit away from her down the bed, as if he was a naughty toddler who had just wrongfully inconvenienced a busy parent.

"Well, that's all I have to say, I guess…" he murmured halfheartedly under his breath.

"I remember."

Immediately the rabbit's head shot into her direction. "W-what?" he stammered.

Frankie still didn't remove the direction of her gaze, but she still continued.

"I should've known….that night, when Grandma….oh geez, why didn't I remember it before her…" she mumbled incredulously to herself as she rubbed her temples.

"Frankie, what are…" Mr. Herriman tried to inquire, but the young woman simply went on as if he hadn't said a thing at all.

"That very night, me and Grandma…" she began.

* * *

"All students have to be at their dorms by four o'clock, huh dearie?" Madame Foster cackled with a smug grin. Frankie looked up briefly from where she had been hooking up her computer to scowl bitterly at her grandmother.

"Oh, be quiet, will ya?" she grumbled as she went back to fumbling with the wires. Madame Foster only grinned fiendishly as she continued to playfully tease her grandchild.

"It seems to be such a shame that you got yourself all worked up over nothing, seeing as we had a little bit more time on our hands than we thought-"

"Don't say it!" Frankie groaned without even looking up, but she knew it was of little use.

"-about twenty-four hours more than we planned, eh, honey?" the petite woman finished, grinning from ear to ear.

"Grandma, c'mon…" the teenager moaned in exasperation. "Please, I feel dumb enough as it is…"

"Oh please, Frankie, don't! I'm not saying you did anything wrong, dear…" Madame Foster reassured her in a cliché grandmotherly fashion. However, after these comforting words, she then added with a playful grin, "But you have to admit, it is pretty funny that you-"

"Okay, okay, so I got the words "Saturday" and "Sunday" mixed up on the letter!" Frankie yelled irritably. "I know I freaked out, I know I was a big pest, and I know I got us up here a day too early! Grandma, c'mon, can't you just knock it off already?" She whimpered, acting more like a whiny toddler than the college freshman she really was.

"Oh come now, no need to make a fuss." Madame Foster only chuckled as she watched the aggravated girl struggle to put her computer together. "Look on the bright side of things! You have lots of space and quiet to set up, we were able to get a parking spot close by so you wouldn't have to walk a far distance….you can even start making friends with the other students that have gotten here too…all four of 'em…"

This time, Frankie didn't even respond with in comprehensible English, only pausing from her set-up to emit a noise sounding somewhere between a growl and a muttered curse as she gritted her teeth in an aggravated manner.

"Oh, cut it out with the dramatics, will you dear? You know I'm only teasing!" Madame Foster laughed, shaking in mirth at the comical sight her granddaughter cut.

After uselessly fumbling with a particular chaotic tangle of wiring for a few minutes with absolutely no luck, am extremely peeved Frankie finally threw down the tangled disaster with a howl of frustration.

"That's it! I give up!" she cried, waving her arms wildly in mock hysterics.

"Frankie, dear, won't you just…" Madame Foster tried to unsuccessfully calm down, but was unable to say a single word more as she became overcome with giggles, tittering like a little schoolgirl.

"Stupid computer, won't even let me…" Frankie then presumed to grumble, which quickly dwindled into an unintelligible muddle of dark mumbling that could scarcely be heard from under her breath. After giving a nearby box a swift bad tempered kick, the girl gave a heavy exasperated sigh as she reached into a nearby bag and began to sort through its contents.

"Arrgh! Grandma, do you know where I packed all my bath towels? I swear, it feels like I've checked every bag, and I've found absolutely nothing! I could've sworn I brought them, but I just don't know which bag…which bag that…that I…"

Within moments all of the badly frazzled girl's previous rage was forgotten, as was much of her ability to speak, as soon as she turned to her grandmother.

"Gr-Grandma? Y-y-you okay?" she whispered worriedly.

Between now and the last few minutes since she had laid eyes on her, Madame Foster seemed to have gone through a most nightmarish transformation. Instant of shaking with laughter at her granddaughter's antics, the old woman just stood petrified in place, as if she had turned into the bust made in her likeness back at home. Her already pale skin seemed to have lost what little color it possessed, making her so frighteningly ghostlike it was as if she was almost translucent. The old woman's jawbone hung limply in shock, swinging limply in the air like a tire on a rope, while her eyes looked as if they wanted to bugle right out of her sockets and burst through her thick glasses. The only sign of life that remained in the usually feisty old lady was her barely audible shallow breath, coming in so quietly it was as if she was on her last breath and about to keel over in death any moment.

"Grandma? G-G-Grandma? Y-you feeling alright?" Frankie inquired again after taking a hard gulp, edging ever so cautiously towards her. "Grandma? What are-"

"No!" Madame Foster suddenly gasped in unimaginable horror. "What are…what…no! No! What's happening? What's happening?" she cried.

"What?" Frankie cried, completely blown away by this mysterious behavior. "Grandma, what are you talking about? It's me, Frankie! We're here in my dorm, you just dropped me off and we're-"

"Hold on…please hold on…" her grandmother only murmured eerily. With that she shut her eyes tightly and went stock still once again, as if she was a mystic going into a trance. Again the room became deathly silent, with nothing emitting a noise but the two Foster's and their low shallow breaths.

Frankie just stood by a few feet away from her grandmother, frozen in place as she watched the utterly bizarre spectacle take place before her, absolutely powerless to do a thing. A hard lump rising in her throat and her heart beating wildly within her chest, never before in her life could the girl ever remember being so scared, or so frighteningly confused. What was happening? What on earth was going on? What had happened to her beloved grandmother? One minute she was laughing with the spirit of a girl an eighth of her age, yet a minute later…

"Grandma…" Frankie murmured feebly as she felt a few hot tears of fright well up within her eyes. She hadn't felt so terrified in all her life since she was a toddler. Her mind was a chaotic swirl of panic and thought, and a million things raced throughout her head all at once. What was she to do? Was her grandmother sick? Should she call for help? Dial 911? Was this serious? What would happen if…even if she…

Frankie could feel a brief feeling of warmth upon her cheeks as a couple tears trickled down her face. She hated to think about it, but whatever this was, what if it turned out to be fatal-

"Why?" Madame Foster suddenly whispered under her breath.

"What?" Frankie sniffled hopefully. "Grandma, what is-"

"Why are you trying to block me, Funny Bunny?" the little old woman just continued, eyes still shut as tightly as ever and completely oblivious to everything around her.

Frankie cocked her head, even more bewildered than ever. She thought she had just experienced total confusion seconds before, but now it felt as if her brain wanted to explode within her skull. What on earth was going on _now_? Why did her grandmother just mention…no it couldn't be…yes, yes it just had to, _no one _else went by such a ridiculous nickname. Why on earth was she…was she really…

The girl gasped as it finally dawned on her. Was this really _it_? She just to be told about this all the time when she was younger, but she never actually believed that it really could be real. No, it just had to be, there was absolutely no other explanation. Frankie remembered it all very clearly now, when an imaginary friend and its creator get very close….something about a special bond, almost like telepathy…wait, but if that really was true…oh no…

Frankie felt her heart sink into her chest.

"Mr. H…." she whispered in a quivering voice.

Once more, her grandmother had gone as quiet and immobile as a tree, making no movements but the inevitable rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in low, horrified gasps. It seemed like she was desperately trying to connect to Mr. Herriman somehow, trying to find out exactly _what _was going on. But why wasn't he responding?

It didn't matter though, Madame Foster seemed steadfastly determined to find out exactly what, where, when, why, and more. Looking for all the world like a Buddhist master deep in the most intense mediation, the old woman seemed to transform into a living statue as she tried to rekindle her link with her beloved imaginary friend.

Sighing heavily and hugging her arms around her, Frankie sat herself down on her bed and helplessly watched. There was little else she could do in this situation.

Fortunately, it didn't look like her grandmother was planning on giving up anytime soon.

* * *

A light, affectionate kiss planted gently against her forehead suddenly roused Frankie out of an uneasy slumber. Almost immediately the girl snapped upright in bed like a spring, furiously rubbing the remnants of sleep from her bleary eyeballs.

"Huh? What the-?"

"Shhhhh…" Madame Foster shushed her gently, as if she was dealing with a cranky three-year-old. However, rather than protest, Frankie instantly went quiet, sitting up Indian-style upon her mattress and staring blankly at her grandmother. The only movement she made was her hands, which she wrung wildly in fevered anticipation upon the news the old woman was about to tell her.

Upon seeing the perfect model of respectful patience her grandchild was showing, Madame Foster stared at her for a few moments before finally revealing the truth.

"He's alright." She whispered quite bluntly, as the ends of her mouth curled slightly to hint at a weak smile.

At this Frankie let out a long, heavy sigh of pure relief and joy, relaxing her rigid sitting stance a little bit.

"Wait, so what happened?" she immediately tried to blurt out in her excitement. However, as soon as the hinted smile was wiped clear from her grandmother's features, Frankie immediately clasped her hands back over her mouth, hanging her head guiltily as if she had mistakenly uttered the darkest of curses. As a sharp and bitter chill raced up her spine, the girl finally lowered her hands a little as she raised her eyes to shoot a brief glance back towards Madame Foster.

"Wait….no, I didn't mean…I'm sorry…"

Rather than scold her mercilessly for her impudence as she was unhappily expecting, Madame Foster only hobbled over slowly to her grandchild with a weary sigh. Taking the girl's hands into hers, she glanced into Frankie's eyes, upon which Frankie had to quickly suppress the surging urge to yelp in surprise; the natural lively spark that Madame Foster carried with her seemed to have disappeared. All that was left in those sagging, heavily lined eyes was a look of such weariness that the girl had never seen in her grandmother in all her life.

"Frankie dear…" the old woman whispered as she gently stroked her grandchild's slightly quivering hands. "Do you really think I wouldn't tell you if I knew any more?"

"G-Grandma…" Frankie tried to stammer out, but the old woman only cut her off with a reassuring pat on her palms and a weak grin.

"It's all right dear, I don't mind. I would be doing the same had I been in your position." She said comfortingly, getting a wan smile from her granddaughter.

For the next few minutes, neither of the two Fosters uttered another word, and the small dorm room was plunged into deafening silence. Finally however, at the barely audible sounds of a few odd birds chirping their song, Frankie finally regained enough confidence to ask in a soft whisper,

"What time is it, Grandma?"

"A little before seven o'clock, dear." She replied simply.

Again, deafening silence.

"You gotta go now, don't you?" Frankie said rather bluntly. Madame Foster flinched upon hearing these words; the way it had been put, it was as if she was abandoning her granddaughter to pursue her own needs.

"Frankie….he _is_ all right…and you're still so worried about…well, I don't want to-"

Frankie suddenly clambered down from her bed to get down on her knees before the petite old woman. Before Madame Foster could finish, she was cut off as the girl wrapped her arms around her in a warm embrace, hugging her close and burying her face into her shoulder.

The old woman was stunned. For the next minute or so she just stood there rigidly as her grandchild held her close, holding her tightly in slightly quivering arms. But before she could inquire what was happening, Frankie suddenly withdrew from the hug just as swiftly and unexpectedly as she had initiated it.

"Tell him…t-tell him..." the girl struggled to stammer as she wiped a few tears from her eyes. "Tell Mr. H…that hug is from me…seeing well…the first one probably didn't do too well…" she ended with a bit of a blush.

Madame Foster broke out into a craggy smile as she hobbled close to wrap the frazzled girl in another hug.

"If that's case, then this one's from me to you."

"Y-you'll call me when you get home, won't you Grandma?" Frankie sniffled hopefully. "After you find out…y'know, to tell me…"

The little old lady patted her back affectionately as she continued to hold the shaking young woman close.

"Of course I will, dear."

* * *

Frankie narrowed her eyes almost accusingly as she glanced towards Mr. Herriman.

"I never did get that phone call, you know."


	5. Avoidance

Author's Note: You wouldn't know just by reading the end part, but Frankie and Mr. Herriman decided it'd be a good idea when I wrote this to fight me and had other, more adult ideas in mind at four in the morning. Heh, heh.

At any rate, it's too early to make any other cracks and Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends does not belong to me.

Chapter Five: Avoidance

Shyly, glancing down at the carpet once more, he replied, "That's because I never told her what happened…"

Shock, quickly replaced by anger, fueled the flame burning in her jade eyes. Frankie glared heatedly, furious he'd worried her so much and yet, explained nothing. She opened her mouth to snap, but he started swiftly, sensing a reprimand. Yes, he knew he'd frightened both her and her grandmother, but there was a reason….

* * *

The austere Business Manager at Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends had, if anything, grown more severe over night. Then again, given his recent encounter, one might be prone to pity, since it was obviously a façade to prevent any questions. Given most imaginary friends tended to abstain from curiosity as far as Mr. Herriman was concerned, his abruptly gruff attitude and castigation was never inquired about, merely grumbled under breaths in less than polite terms. Because he doubted there was a way to entirely cover up the incident, he settled for pacing his office in search of an excuse to explain the very real terror he'd experienced to Madame Foster. Anxiously, his paw continually stroked his collar and the large bandage he'd inexpertly applied to the wound. 

According to the schedule he'd devised, Madame Foster was due to return any minute now. The knowledge sped his heart, already pounding, and slicked his paws beneath the gloves. Thank goodness for fur; otherwise, she'd realize just how profusely he sweated. Add that to the emotions leaked over, his frantic block of their link, and lying would not only be unlikely, but impossible. He only hoped that, despite the fact she'd created him, he might be able to evade her.

Admitting to what happened meant admitting he'd jeopardized his life and left Foster's unattended as well. In the hours the beast had been hunting him, no one was in charge of the house. He'd shirked on his duties, nearly gotten himself killed in the process, and expected a reprimand. However, since he didn't plan on telling her anything, the lecture could remain unspoken and unacknowledged. Besides, she had Frankie to worry about…and, at her age, adding to her load, he decided, wasn't terribly wise.

A car door slamming interrupted his illogical reasoning and, forcing composure, he hopped into the foyer. A passing imaginary friend, a slithering plant-like creature with roses for heads that snapped at his paws as it strode away, induced a shudder. Normally, he'd scoff, but today, he was exceedingly jumpy. The creature snickered, clacking its Venus flytrap teeth, and then drifted into another section of the house.

Clack, clack, clack of a cane on wood entered his large ears and he wrung his paws agitatedly. Wilt, who hadn't seen Frankie off because of a slight cold, stopped to glance at him concernedly. Anyone who had been around the large imaginary rabbit for years as Wilt had knew his nervous habits and, because he cared about all the friends in the house, opened his mouth to ask. Mr. Herriman glared at him so fiercely, he stammered an apology (even Wilt wondered what he apologized for all the time), and retreated.

The door creaked open, sounding very much like a casket edged to reveal the corpse inside. Swallowing hard, he steeled himself for a grilling the likes of which he'd never been subjected to previously. One could have heard a pin drop, since all the imaginary friends who might have waited anxiously to see her had shied away from the fanatical Mr. Herriman. If he'd been able to control his reactions, he would have prevented that, as it further communicated something was wrong. He fingered his collar nervously once more.

"Well, where's my welcoming committee?" she said jovially, as though she hadn't spent the entire car ride back fretting over him.

"Good afternoon, Madame," he replied, forcing a smile. "Welcome back. I trust you had a satisfactory trip?"

She gazed at him keenly and, dully, he realized he wasn't going to get off the hook that easily. Desperate, he glanced behind him, hoping someone would crop up and distract her. However, since everyone was either in their room thanks to a bizarre, nonsensical punishment or else evading the imaginary rabbit, none came to his aid. He, praying one would spring from the woodwork, scrutinized the stairway. A sharp rap on his paw, still tender from last night's "adventure", brought his attention back to her.

"What happened last night?" she inquired, all jocularity gone. "You _blocked _me. You never block me."

Uneasy, he failed to meet her eyes. No brilliant diversion tactics divulged themselves to him, no thoughtful dissertations, nothing that could possibly derail her train. Yet there had to be _something_. Maybe if he offered a feeble lie, she'd buy it. Of course, the fact his paw was now throbbing over a rap that shouldn't have hurt as much as it did was beside the point. He hated the notion of deceiving her, but it appealed more than telling the truth.

"Ah, well, there was a minor skirmish here. Nothing to fret about, Madame," he replied, laughing heartily and unconvincingly. Her eyes narrowed to slits.

"You're lying," she snapped, hobbling over to his office to discuss it in private. Mr. Herriman hesitated, aware that the longer this conversation lasted, the greater chance she'd back him into a corner. Perhaps she was entitled to the reality of what happened, but not now. Maybe never…worrying his creator unduly was not something he enjoyed. He remembered hurting his paw and not telling her about it until she suddenly appeared in his office, whacked him with her pocketbook, and told him they were getting it treated whether he liked it or not.

"Of course not! Madame, why would I do that? There was a skirmish, I grappled with the imaginaries in question, and then it was dealt with. There is nothing to concern yourself with," he said and then, bowing politely, hopped into his office. Dubious, she followed. When he hefted himself into his luxurious, cushiony chair, she settled into the one in front of his desk.

"You may be able to fool Wilt, Eduardo, Coco, or any number of the imaginary friends who live here, but you can't fool _me_. I created you. The terror I felt from you wasn't over a fight…and even if it _was_, that doesn't explain why you blocked me for hours.

"I'm not asking you to pull a thorn from your side, so why are you deliberately lying to me?" she fired and he cringed, unconsciously edging his chair away. He glanced out the window, but there was no post. After all, today was Sunday.

And, naturally, his wound chose this opportunity to trouble him. His paw flew to the spot on his collar under which it lay, but her eyes scoured every movement he made and he reluctantly lowered it. Several exceeding long minutes passed where Madame Foster tried to lure him into speaking and he obstinately kept his mouth shut. The ringing doorbell caused him to shoot out of his seat and dash-hop. He barely managed to hide the slight limp.

Madame Foster's cane sounded behind him and he hurriedly opened the door. A family ready to adopt, nothing unusual in that. A little boy with brown hair, blue eyes, a bucktooth, and a silly pink hat was muttering about someone named "Gary" and his mother hushed him. Excellent, an opportunity to further business and occupy himself instead of answering questions. Though he normally never gave tours himself, he decided to lead them through, all the while dodging his creator's distinct and jarring inquiries.

* * *

"She couldn't have given up _that _easily, though," Frankie pointed out, once he'd stopped orating. The moonlight streamed unabated through her open curtains, billowing in the breeze gently. A few stray stars shone brightly; a clear, beautiful night, just like that night. Perturbed, he returned his gaze to her and not bygones. 

"No, she did not. But eventually, she decided that she would try to catch me unaware in the hopes it would work better. Nonetheless, I've managed to elude her successfully for years…" he trailed off, aware it was hardly an accomplishment. Now that his tale had drawn to a close, he wondered why he'd ventured forth in the first place. What had he been expecting? Sympathy? Affection?

The decisions that had led to him waking her and the motives behind them had faded away. She still hadn't indicated he hadn't wasted her time, but at least she remembered. He sighed, glancing at the moon once more. Many creatures had searched it for the answers, but wherever they hid, he never unearthed them.

"Don't you think she deserves to know?" she murmured, hesitantly resting a hand on his paw again. His other jumped back to massage his collar and, scowling, she laid that on the bed as well. Both paws pinned, he had no choice but to pay attention. Why on earth was he acting like a fidgety child tonight? It made him feel so much younger…

Swallowing hard, he sought a diplomatic response, but she somehow understood. Squeezing his paw affectionately, she eyed the collar and released his paws. Sighing heavily, he removed it and her fingers flew to the scar running down his throat. Her touch was like silk against his skin and he shivered happily, not complaining when she lingered. The world shrank from the house and all the occupants to the two of them; her breath gently issuing forth, his own held, her finger roaming through his fur, and the quietness eclipsing their souls. In that instant, his heart soared and he truly felt as though he'd found a kindred spirit.

Her eyes met his and a tacit agreement passed between the two. She leaned forward and then jerked away guiltily, yanking her hand off his neck. Blushing heavily, face matching her hair, she laughed nervously, back to watching her feet swing back and forth. Even the back of her neck was scarlet.

Likewise, Mr. Herriman's skin blazed underneath the fur as he hurriedly reapplied his collar. An awkward silence descended, neither willing to voice the possibilities of their proximity and their faces' heat. In fact, the room, which had seemed so hospitable before, was now positively stifling. Frankie leapt up, wrenched the window completely open to permit a freezing wind to penetrate, and then shoved her head out. Meanwhile, Mr. Herriman fanned himself idly, picking up a stray stuffed rabbit that turned out to be her favorite. Redder than before, he tossed it aside, a blushing fur ball.

"I…I should go to bed," he stammered, observing her gulp down air in the vain hopes it might diminish her blush. It did absolutely nothing but cause her to resemble a guppy out of water. Still, he hesitated, possessed by an insane urge to hug her.

"Are you going to be okay?" she replied, dragging her head back out and shutting the window. She shivered, rubbing her hands along her arms. Mr. Herriman frowned, hopping to her side to run his paws atop her hands in an effort to warm her further. She smiled weakly, about to move away when he hugged her tightly. Indecisive, desiring the closeness but at the same time fearing it, she charily wrapped her arms around him. Their hearts pounded in their chests and she inclined her head once more.

"I…I suppose so, Miss Fran-Frankie," he said, stopping himself. He was rewarded with a smile like a sunbeam. Instantly, the frigidity vanished, replaced by warmth flooding him. He had an insane idea to say something he'd normally never even contemplate, much less verbalize, but a glance at the clock stilled his tongue. It was four o'clock, far too late to start anything.

"You sure? You don't want me to stay in your room with you until you fall asleep, do you?" she inquired innocently, contrary to all the Freudian slips flitting through her head that had the good grace to _stay _there, despite their struggle.

"Well, actually…" he blushed again and then thought better of it. If anyone saw her coming out of his room in the morning, they might put the dots together (even if _they_ hadn't yet). Reluctantly, he freed her from his embrace, though she didn't let go until a few seconds afterwards. The two gazed into each other's eyes until he turned away, swallowing hard and wondering why on earth all these thoughts were circulating at four in the morning.

"I believe I will be fine."

And, for the remainder of the 'night', he was.

* * *


	6. Chapter Six

Author's Note: I'm tired. So very, very tired. I hate eight a.m. classes. And thus, let me just say, this is Dude13's chapter and I spent about an hour and a half (probably more, I forget at the moment) editing it. That turned a rather fluffy scene in the end...into a mundane one because I read through it so many times.

Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends belongs to Craig McCracken and co.

Chapter Six_  
_

_Tap tap tap._

At the sound of curt rapping from the hallway, Madame Foster gently placed her knitting down upon her lap and glanced up expectantly in the direction of the doorway.

"Come in!" she cried cheerfully.

"Er…Madame?" came the cautious inquiry as a familiar furry face glanced inside.

"Oh, it's only _you_." His creator teased him playfully. "Well, what is it?"

"Well…I…I…" Mr. Herriman stammered nervously as he took a wary step into the room. "I…"

"Oh come now, what is it?" the old woman asked in mock impatience, flashing him a reassuring smile. "C'mon Bunny, whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

At this Mr. Herriman took a nervous gulp. "Well…"

Completely unsure of what to say, he just stood there for a few minutes before his creator in dead silence. It was either now or never, but where could he possibly begin? He just had to say _something_; he had wrongfully kept this secret from her from so long. But how on earth was he going to tell her the truth now, about quite possibly the only thing he ever intentionally kept away from her knowledge?

"Madame I…" he tried to start again, but once more he found himself unable to say little more. Meanwhile, Madame Foster, hands clasped and nodding firmly in reassurance, continued to sit patiently in her chair,.

"Go on…" she whispered gently.

Mr. Herriman let loose a painful sigh as he slowly raised a shaking arm. He hoped fervently that it wouldn't have to come down to _this_, but then again, actions do always speak louder than words. He raised his arm to his collar, grabbed hold, and-

"Oh, you're not going to show me that nasty old scar, are you?" the old woman asked with a grimace.

"_WHAT_?" Mr. Herriman practically yelled in his shock.

"Oh, don't play dumb with me! You know very well the last thing I want to see is the remnant of what that nasty hound did to you." The old woman replied rather calmly as she set her knitting aside on a nearby table.

"I…I…" her imaginary friend struggled to find a somewhat suitable response, but found none.

"I mean, honestly! I don't go off flashing around that scar I got from that accident I had slicing the turkey at Thanksgiving one year, and it's not like we ask Frankie to show off what's left of her tricycle accident when we watch home movies." She rambled on as she reached for her cane and set herself down on the floor.

"I…I…well, I….what…" Mr. Herriman continued until the little old lady, waiting expectantly, stood before him,.

"Yes?" she inquired casually.

"How?" he asked in a stunned whisper.

Madame Foster broke out into a sly smile. "I'm not quite sure. Maybe because you rub that thing on your neck whenever someone so much as turns on "Lassie" on the TV. Then again, it could also be due to the fact that you developed this insane fear of canines rather suddenly after Frankie went off to college. Then again, what do I know?" she chuckled.

Mr. Herriman just stared at her dumbly for a few moments as the tears began to well up in his eyes. "Madame, I'm sorr-"

Before he had a chance to finish, Madame Foster threw her arms around his belly and snuggled close to him in a warm hug.

"Oh, as if you haven't been so the past four years?" she joked as she rubbed her cheek against his soothingly soft fur.

"Eleanor…" Mr. Herriman sniffled, dropping his formality.

"You're still here with us now, aren't you?" his creator asked, looking up with a warm grin.

"Well, yes, but…"

"Then, that's all that really matters in the end." Madame Foster laughed as she tightened her squeeze.

* * *

Mr. Herriman hummed cheerfully as he made his way across the Foster's foyer in his usual dignified hop towards his office. Well, now that he had all _that _out of the way, things were certainly looking up. With peace on the issue of his peculiar "experience" finally made with his creator and a nice stack of various forms and paperwork waiting for him on his desk, he thought rather smugly to himself that there was probably _nothing _that could possibly ruin his rather upbeat mood now- 

"Yip!"

Oh, wait. Except _that_.

At the sound of the squeaky yap, he jumped a little in fright with a horrified gasp as he came to a dead halt. His heart thumping wildly in his chest, he turned his head slowly in the direction of what was to him one of the most terrifying sounds in the world. Visibly quaking and dreading the very worst, he slowly craned his neck…

And met the gaze of the single imaginary puppy, tail wagging furiously and drawn back into a playful crouch in the entrance to the dining room a few feet away. Immediately Mr. Herriman wiped the nervous sweat from his brow as he breathed an audible sigh of relief. It was okay, it was going to be alright. He could definitely handle just one little puppy, no sweat, and an _imaginary _puppy at that. Just as long as the little creature kept his distance, and-

Suddenly, the puppy sprung forward with a little bark…

And was promptly followed by nine or ten of its brothers and sisters, flooding into the foyer from within the dining room.

Mr. Herriman leapt a full foot in the air in his dumb shock. Unfortunately, he didn't even have the chance to do so much as flee the few yards into the refuge of his office before he found himself utterly surrounded by the pack. As they dashed back and forth beneath him, around his legs, leapt about, and even nipped playfully at his ankles, Mr. Herriman, normally the model of perfect composure, became a nervous wreck within an instant. Heart pounding furiously in his chest, entire body quivering like he was made of Jell-O, and brow soaked with sweat, he was reduced to a pitiful excuse of an imaginary friend in a matter of moments. His breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps, he shut his eyes tightly, trying with all his might not to faint in his terrified panic…

_Thump!_

At the sound of some object thudding hard against the hard tile floor of the foyer, every imaginary puppy present suddenly lost interest in Herriman. The terrified imaginary friend could feel their movement around him come to an abrupt halt as they all went dead silent.

_Thump!_

At the emission of another sound of impact, every puppy craned their little necks in the direction of the peculiar noise, as complete control over their meager attention spans was achieved. At this point, a very puzzled Mr. Herriman finally managed to compile enough composure about himself to crack one eyelid open to see exactly _what _had so expertly gained the focus of his furry little tormentors. As soon as he had one little peek however, his jaw dropped like a stone as both eyes bulged in total surprise at the scene before him, unable to comprehend _who _of all people had come to his rescue.

Rather than be taken aback by the rabbit's thunderstruck expression, Frankie only chose to giggle in the fashion of a naughty toddler at the ridiculous look of shock on her employer's face, a sight that was a rare treat for anyone. However, noticing how Mr. Herriman continued to shake violently in his fright, still being completely surrounded by dogs as he was, the girl quickly passed him a reassuring wink and a sly grin before swinging back into action. Taking the bright yellow tennis ball in her palm, she bounced it a third time upon the foyer and caught it again with almost careless ease.

That was it. The first two bounces had nabbed complete control of the puppies' attention, and with this last one they all immediately fled from the beleaguered Mr. Herriman in an instant and pushed him clear of their minds as they scrambled towards the girl at the base of the staircase. Moving as one unit, the pack surrounded Frankie in a little sea of small, over-energized balls of fur that barked furiously in their excitement.

"Huh? What's that?" Frankie cooed sweetly to the yipping little dogs.

"Do you want the ball? Huh? Do ya, huh? The ball? You want it?" she squealed enthusiastically, furiously waving the tennis ball back and forth. Her vivacity further fueled the puppies already overflowing excitement, causing some to start to nip impatiently at her shoelaces and sneakers. However, Frankie paid little attention to these minor irritations and instead just plastered a ridiculously goofy smile upon her face as she went along with the act.

"Huh? You guys want the ball? Do ya? Do ya? This ball, here? This ball? You guys want it? Huh? Huh, do ya?" she cooed in an outrageously squeaky tone of voice.

She was greeted in reply with a loud chorus of maddened yips and excited barks. As the pack writhed madly about her in impatience, Frankie let a sly grin take form upon her features.

"Well then, if you guys really want it so bad…"

Suddenly, the crafty young woman bolted off, the puppies naturally following her in close pursuit. Bounding across the foyer in a few long strides of her lanky frame, Frankie skidded to a halt next to the front doors and threw them wide open.

"…Then go get it!" she yelled enthusiastically, tossing the tennis ball out into the front yard. Never slowing down their mad scramble, the puppies, chasing after the bouncing ball like a pack of wolves on the hunt, spilled out onto the porch and down the staircase.. As soon as the last one had safely made it outside, Frankie, sighing in relief as the room became free once again of the clamor of overexcited little dogs, immediately slammed the doors shut.

"Hook, line, and sinker." She chuckled, locking the door and flashing another sly wink.

"M-Miss Franc-" a very stunned Mr. Herriman tried to stammer out unsuccessfully, right before he cut himself off in mid-sentence.

"Uh, wait, w-wait! Hold on…I mean, er…F-_Frankie_?" he stuttered apologetically.

"Yeah, Mr. H?" Frankie replied with a large grin.

"You…you…well, you…" 

"Yep, dogs are all gone." The young woman chirped happily in agreement as she casually strolled across towards the badly stuttering rabbit.

"Well, yes, I know _that_." Mr. Herriman replied defensively in a flustered manner. "It's just that…I never expected you…wait, but-"

"Shhhhh." Frankie placed a finger to her lips and hushed him gently in the fashion of a mother shushing an overexcited toddler. Rather than protest this as a blatant show of disrespect, Mr. Herriman obediently silenced as the girl came to a halt before him. For the next few moments, the two just stared wordlessly at one another, Mr. Herriman wringing his gloved paws furiously in his anxiety, while Frankie just smiled from ear to ear like the Cheshire Cat.

"Fra-"

Before he could get any further, Frankie threw her arms open wide and flung herself forward, wrapping Mr. Herriman tightly in a warm hug. Despite the fact that he was covered from head to toe in a fine layer of silvery-gray fur, he was almost positive that his whole body burned at the moment in a vibrant scarlet blush, one that must've matched the hair of the girl who held him close. While she tightened her squeeze around him, the stunned creature managed to raise a pair of badly shaking arms and gently wrap them around, returning the hug with an embrace of his own. As soon as he did so, he could feel Frankie gently nuzzle his shoulder in response with a warm sigh, causing the imaginary friend's heart to momentarily skip a beat. As the two embraced, the entire room actually seemed to spin a little for a few wonderfully dizzying moments as each one tightened their hold upon the other.

Suddenly, just as abruptly as it was initiated, Frankie suddenly withdrew her arms and stepped back a bit. The shock of the breakup took Mr. Herriman off guard completely, and he actually stumbled forward a little bit in his surprise. Fortunately, before he splattered against the floor in the most ungraceful manner, a quick-thinking Frankie reached forward and successfully steadied him back to his feet. As she held onto his arms, the two once again looked into each other's eyes, and the foyer was thrown into a deafening silence.

"Uh….Fr-Frankie?" Mr. Herriman stammered.

"Yeah?" Frankie replied casually, her ridiculously warm smile even larger than ever.

"I…er, well I…I…I…"

As he stuttered continuously in the manner of a broken record player, Frankie, sensing his obvious discomfort and embarrassment, chuckled as she put a finger up to his lips.

"Cut it out, will ya?" she giggled.

"Well…" Mr. Herriman, scuffing the floor with a large rabbit foot, grunted.

"Hey, c'mon." Frankie teased as she playfully flicked one of his ears. "How about we just think of _that_ as a little something long overdue. Four years, to be exact." She announced matter-of-factly.

"Four years?" Mr. Herriman asked incredulously.

"Well, sure." Frankie laughed as she whirled around and began to make her way towards the staircase.

"I don't think that hug before I left for Montclair State counted, either." She turned back to state briefly, before resuming her exit with a giggle.

Mr. Herriman just stood there, dumbstruck as he watched the young woman stroll across the floor in a casual manner. Well actually, now that he looked at her closely, maybe a little _too _casual to be exact.

Actually, it seemed to carry a bit of a hint of cockiness more than anything.

As he pondered over this, an idea that was not at all in the way of his usual manner of thinking suddenly popped into his mind. As a fiendishly sly grin began to adorn his aged features, Mr. Herriman realized it was _exactly_ what he needed at this moment.

"Frankie…" he called softly as he cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Mmm?" she answered, with a slow turn of her head.

It was then that the foyer momentarily reverberated with what sounded like the distinct gobble of a wild turkey.

"EEEEEEEK!" Frankie squealed in terror, obviously not expecting to hear that at all. In her shock she seemed to jump a full two feet in the air, a leap that was quickly followed by a landing that was far from something that could be considered graceful. With a squeak the girl tumbled forward and hit the floor belly first with an audible _splat _that seemed to echo throughout the room. Upon completing her comical landing, she quickly scrambled furiously into a sitting position and wiped away some loose strands of fiery-red hair from her eyes as she glanced about wildly.

"Where is it? Where'd it go? Wh-oh, it was only _you_." She huffed irritably as soon as she spotted Mr. Herriman shaking uncontrollably in his mirth.

"Oh, hee hee! Pardon me, but I know I shouldn't have, but I, I-" he tried to unsuccessfully apologize while struggling to stifle his laughter at the same time for the benefit of the badly shaken girl.

"Don't _do _that!" Frankie yelled angrily before wrapping her arms about her legs and curling up into a miserable little ball with a pitiful whimper. Wiping away tears of merriment from his eyes, Mr. Herriman, quickly hopping over to her side, dropped to his knees and embraced the distressed girl in a warm hug.

"There, there." He rocked her back and forth in his arm and tried to whisper reassuringly, all the while trying to hold down the laughter that was threatening to explode from within.

"I thought it was my second-grade field trip to the zoo all over again." Frankie whined like a toddler as she threw her arms around his neck with a pathetic groan.

The hallways of Foster's seemed to echo with Mr. Herriman's roaring laughter.

**The End**


End file.
